


calm after the storm

by peachyteabuck



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Calm after the storm, F/F, Fluff, Overstimulation, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Fingering, Wedding Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:06:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23724304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachyteabuck/pseuds/peachyteabuck
Summary: post-wedding day bliss
Relationships: Natasha Romanov (Marvel)/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 84





	calm after the storm

The wedding was perfect, everything you had imagined. You had the perfect dress, the perfect flowers, the perfect guests, the perfect catering, the perfect venue, the perfect _wife_.

But, even as you celebrated and beamed and cried happy tears and held hands and kissed and exchanged vows, the best-day-of-your-life was completely and utterly _exhausting_ – all the dancing and smiling and photos and pure unadulterated happiness left you stumbling to the hotel room Nat and you were going to share for a few days before you left for your honeymoon – scheduled for a rest Mexico where the sun promised to shine and your phones were to be turned off for the longest in either of your careers.

“You okay, babe?” she asks once you’re both in the elevator, watching you closely as you use her for balance while you take off your painful heels.

You groan in pain as your feet – now able to flatten and breathe and _finally_ not stuck in stuffy plastic – hit the cold material of the floor fancy, dark marble flooring. “Define ‘okay,’ would you please?”

Natasha just snorts, holding you close as your eyes droop and your legs threaten to give out. “Oh, darling. We’re almost there, I promise.”

Natasha isn’t lying – you’re only forced to travel about five more floors and a short walk to get to your grand suite before you can collapse into the giant bed, something you had thought about all day with its obnoxiously high thread count sheets and mountain of beautiful, plush pillows.

Each of you had both been in there, in what now sounds like paradise, that morning. You both needed to drop off your luggage and whatever else you’d think you’d need for the Honeymoon (the visits were perfectly timed, though, so that you avoided seeing one another). Despite this, you yourself had no idea how long and treacherous the journey would be.

(In reality, was it fifty feet? Probably. But does that mean you’re not going to complain about it? Absolutely not.)

You nearly scream with relief when you step into the room, allowing yourself to slouch and burp and groan in pain.

Natasha puts the two bottles of champagne she’d taken from the reception on one of the end tables by the door, never letting go of your hand.

When she turns back to you she sees you, struggling uncomfortably in your dress as if you were one of the small children that attended the ceremony – stuffed into fancy clothes for hours as their parents mingled.

Natasha opted to wear a well-tailored suit, something you became incredibly jealous of about ten seconds after you were stuffed into the wedding dress.

“C’mere,” Natasha murmurs into your skin, hands rubbing into your shoulders. “Let me help you out of this thing.”

You don’t deny the help, moving your perfectly done hair to the side so she can access the complicated lace-up back that held your strapless dress to your body.

“You looked so beautiful tonight,” Natasha tells you, assassin hands making quick work of the expensive, intricately woven ribbon. “Like a goddess in a dream.”

If you had more energy you’d blush wildly, stutter through a “thank you” and do your best to compliment her back. Now, though, all you can seem to manage is a small smile and an equally tiny “thanks” as the dress falls to your feet, Natasha helping you step out of it – leaving you in the fancy lingerie that costs spent _God_ knows how from some fancy designer you .

It’s pretty, a deep orange that compliments your skin exceptionally well – a pre-wedding gift from Carol.

_“I know she likes,” she says with a wink, handing you the bag as you got your hair done that morning. You know she’s referring the numerous threesomes you and Natasha had had with her and it makes you bark out a laugh._

_The hairdresser glares at you for messing up her flow, and you apologize meekly before giggling once more._

“Wow,” Nat mumbles, eyeing you up and down. “That looks fucking amazing on you.”

You smile, weak but genuine as you let out a small yawn. “Thanks, Carol of all people thought you would like it.”

Your wife barks out a loud laugh, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “Oh, of course she did.”

Natasha gives you another once-over, another lingering glance, before she grabs your hand - leading you to the table where she had your make up mirror set up, along with your large collection of post-make up necessitates. Next to the several large make up bag’s worth of stuff is the fluffiest robe you’ve ever seen, and as you press your hand to it to pinch the cloth between your fingers, you can feel it had been warmed.

God, you love your wife so much – almost as much as you want to wrap yourself in that robe for the next one thousand years and never, _ever_ take it off. 

“Now,” Natasha tells you, coming behind you to leave a kiss at the base of your neck. “Get comfortable while I run us a nice, hot bath so the both of us can properly destress from the day. Got it?”

You nod as you sit down, taking it all in as Natasha eases herself away.

“I love you so much!” you call out to her. “You’re the best wife ever!”

A beat passes before you hear a response. “I know!”

After pulling the robe on and nearly crying at how good it feels, you work on taking your thick make up off while Natasha does her thing in the bathroom – faint music playing from a Bluetooth speaker she had remembered to pack.

Natasha, your _wife._ The woman you’ve loved for years, the woman you’ve known was the one since you saw her at that fashion show Tony made her go to because Bruce (the one most susceptible to Tony’s extroverted nonsense) bowed at to deal with some “nuclear-fission” related stuff.

_You were a model, another person stepping in for a friend when another friend had more important things to do. Natasha was taken with you when you first stepped out of the runway, insisting that she meet you backstage._

_Luckily, Tony allowed to use her connection to him to get there, flashing the_ Stark Industries _part of her invite in front of anyone who tried to step in her way. You were there, undoing the tight ponytail at a well-lit mirror while wearing sweatpants and a crop top and flip flops – a fantastical contrast to the deep maroon ballgown you were stuffed inside for the show._

_She was awestruck, as were you, and while you both stared at each other, wordless, the designer you were doing a favor for had the good sense to step in and introduce you._

_It was horrible awkward for you and Natasha, exchanging numbers and introducing yourself like dumbstruck preschoolers meeting new friends on the first day of school. Eventually you had to leave, torn from her gaze by another model insisting you get drinks._

_Natasha was pulled in the other direction by Tony, who wanted to go clubbing like his life depending on it._

_Needless to say, you were texting the entire night, next morning, and the day after…plus the week after that…_

_The rest, of course, is history._

You smile as you rub the last of your professionally applied eyeliner off, taking out your serums and creams to be used next.

You’re on a moisturizing thing for your under-eyes when Natasha calls for you.

“The bath is ready!” she yells, suddenly appearing in the doorway. You smile at her in your mirror before joining her in the-

“Holy shit, this bathroom is fucking _huge!_ ”

Natasha laughs, stripping you before she replies. “Well, we sure are paying enough for it.”

You snort. “Actually, _Tony’s_ paying for it.”

Natasha rolls her eyes as she guides you to the tub, pushing your clothes aside with her foot. “Of course, how could I forget?”

Tony – a man who was likely more excited about the wedding than anything else – had insisted from day one that he should be the one to pay for the honeymoon and anything else one would call “expensive.”

Once you mumbled something about the container store being a possibility of where you would register, and after a rough draft list he bought everything you desired.

(How he got that list, you don’t know, since the only people you sent it to was Natasha and Wanda. In all honesty, you try not to think about it, as you had much more pertinent things to worry about when it came to your wedding.)

Natasha steadies you climb into the bath and you sink into the hot water with a deep moan, already beginning to rub into your sore muscles.

“Baby, don’t do that yet,” Natasha tuts, throwing another handful of bath salts into the large tub. Too tired to disagree, you watch her with hooded eyes while she undresses before pushing you forward to make room for her behind you. “Let me help you.”

Your head falls back to lean against her shoulder as she massages you with nimble, callous fingers.

“You’re really good at this,” you whisper, kissing what little skin you can reach.

She starts at your feet, easily working her way up your ankles, calves, knees, thighs.

Your breath hitches when she moves to your hips – but it calms when she brushes over them and moves to your shoulders.

“Better?” she asks as she works out knots the size of Thor from between your shoulder blades.

You nod, leaning back against her. “Yeah, _much_ better.”

You can feel her smile turn a little wicked as she speaks. “Then this should be amazing.”

Before you can question her, both hands move to your chest, massaging your breasts – sore from the corset of the dress and the beautiful (but uncomfortable) lace lingerie.

It feels so good; a breath of fresh hair after being choked (both literally and metaphorically), stepping into the sun after weeks of rain, touching the skin of another after being kept alone for so long.

“God,” you whisper, leaning into her hands. “Fuck this is the best.”

You can feel Natasha smile into the skin of your shoulder. “Yeah? You like that?”

You giggle as you reply. “Very much so.”

Only then does she stop, moving to grab at the basket of nice-smelling objects you can’t identity until Natasha brings it in front of you, holding it above the water and close to your face. You can see bathe bombs and salts, essential oils, bubble bath.

“Pick one,” Natasha tells you, whispering.

You take one shaky hand from the water and dry it as best you can, grabbing a pale pink sphere that smells vaguely of peaches and a summer breeze.

Natasha nudges you and you drop it into the water, watching silently as it fizzled and dissolved into the hot water.

Behind you, you can hear her grabbing something else – popping what you think is a lid open and squirting its contents into her hands.

You suck in a breath, hoping her hands will go back to your chest, but to your dismay she simply goes back to your shoulders.

“You carry a lot of tense energy here,” she teases playfully. You can’t tell if she’s mocking you or the massage you two had gotten a few weeks back when Wanda noticed how much wedding planning had taken a toll on the both of you.

They were good, the massage therapists that she had hired were well trained and knew what they were doing, but one of them had this stereotypical voice and vocabulary and both you and Natasha had turned her into some sort of inside joke.

_“Now,” she told Natasha as her elbow was inches-deep in the woman’s spine. “You carry a lot of stress around your spine, so you need to be mindful of that…”_

_Natasha nodded along, as did you, despite not a single clue what that meant. You both quoted when the other got stressed again, reminding the other person to relax that furrow in your brow just a little._

Regardless of intent, you giggle and let her work out the knots that have made homes along your shoulder blades and spine, your hands resting on her knees that rest near your sides in the hot water.

“What was the favorite part?” you ask, wanting to hear the voice of your wife instead of the sleep-inducing silence. You wanted to be awake, wanted to experience this with her.

You can somehow feel Natasha smiling softly. “Oh god, you were – obviously, but it was just so nice to see everyone there, everyone I love being there and celebrating with us…”

The feeling of her fingers digging into your muscles lulls you into a semi-unconscious state, listening to her stories from the best day of her and your life.

“I think Thor bringing that ale was _only_ a good idea, because seeing Steve and Bucky drunk was…” she laughs, and if you could live in that melodic sound, you would. “It was fucking hilarious. Who knew Bucky was a giggley drunk and Steve was a horny one – I don’t think I’ve ever seen two men grind on each other so hard for so long in one night in my life!”

You let out a soft laugh with her, hoping she continues.

Luckily, she does.

“Your mom was _horrified_! But everyone else thought it was hysterical. Even your Dad was a little into it…”

You snort a little, as does she.

“It was also so good to see Pepper let go for a minute, too she’s been so busy with Stark Industries shit, and watching her dance with Morgan after that adorable little thing ‘caught’ that stupid thing at the bouquet throwing.

“And I hope you know everyone was crying with us when we finally said, ‘I do.’ Even your Dad, but Thor especially…I had no idea that man could so sob so loud…”

It all lulled together after that, white noise as you found yourself floating on air and caught in an indefinable cloud of contentless.

Natasha brings you back to reality, eventually, easily turning you around and leaving kisses along your eyes, nose, cheeks, then your lips.

“You good?” she asks, watching as your eyes flitter open.

You nod, voice weak. “Yeah, yeah. I’m…good.”

Natasha gets out first, drying off while keeping an eye on you in the tub. With your blurry vision from just waking up and the bright lights that line the large mirror behind her, she looks angelic, like she just fell straight from Heaven into your Honeymoon Suite.

As you watch her, you expect large, heavy wings to sprout from her back – eclipse the LED lights and burn your eyes, blinding you for all eternity.

But, if the last thing you ever saw your beautiful wife naked…you wouldn’t mind, all that much, never being able to see her again. This image, now, would be enough.

Luckily, though, you aren’t going blind, and you’re able to see as she pulls her hair into a loose bun before grabbing two large towels and previously discarded robe.

Natasha helps you out of the tub, making you stand as she dries off you off – paying special attention to your center and chest and ass.

“Stop teasing me,” you mumble as she works your way to your spine.

She just smirks. “My dear, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You just roll your eyes as she wraps up your hair and pulls you into the robe – silent as she carries you bridal style to the large bed where she leaves you, sitting, before going back to the bathroom.

You stay there, positioned with a towel around your body and wrapped in your hair, listening Natasha drain the tub, turn on the faucet, and do other things you don’t have the brain power to listen to.

She returns with your hairbrush and a glass of water, pulling you into her lap facing away from her.

You sip at the cool water as she undoes the towel in your hair, carefully undoing the tangles and leaving occasional light kisses across your exposed shoulders.

“Do you want your hair up or down, babe?” she asks, pulling a hair tie from the end of the brush.

You blush as you respond. “Could you, uh, do those braids I like?”

Natasha just smiles, grabbing a small, opaque, black matte box you hadn’t noticed before.

“Of course,” she says, opening it with a small _click_ and pulling out a few bobby pins. “Of course, I can, my love. I’d do anything you asked of me.”

You sit there, patient as the youngest girl at a sleepover desperate for the acceptance of her older sister’s friends, as she makes two braids and wraps them around your head, letting small tendrils frame your face.

Natasha grabs a small compact from the spot bed where the box was, holding it in front of you to show off her precise work.

You sigh deeply, happily, tucking a bit behind your ear as you admire it. Your wife has beautiful, precise handiwork in all she does, in all she touches – especially when it comes to your hair.

Each morning you’ve had the privilege to wake up next to each other, Natasha had taken the time to do your hair – even if it meant propping you up in your sleep. It was a silent, artful way that she told you that she loved you, an easier way for her to express her feelings without having to voice them directly.

Seeing her to this now, while you’re awake, without the sleep in your eyes or the impending stress of the day…it all nearly brings you to tears.

You turn to face her, pulling her in for a deep kiss. “I love you so much,” you tell her, a few tears falling down your face – the taste of salt spreading on your tongue.

Natasha smiles, waiting to break away until your lungs scream for air and she gives you a moment to grant them the oxygen they desire.

(Sometimes you forget she’s learned how to hold her breath for a simply ridiculous amount of time – great for some things, bad for others).

Once you’re back to breathing like the normal ole civilian you are, Natasha pushes you back into place in her lap, the only thing separating you being the slightly-damp but still-quite-fluffy towel.

With your hair dealt with, though, Natasha makes the decision to pull it off.

You hiss slightly as your skin becomes exposed to the cool air of the spacious suite, pressing yourself further against Natasha’s steadfastly heated skin.

“Oh, baby,” Natasha coos. “Let me warm you up…”

For a minute you think she means she’ll put you in a sweatshirt, but as her hand trails between your breasts and down your stomach you – you understand what she means.

Her fingers spread your folds easily, other hand teasing at your sensitive inner thighs. You moan unabashedly and press your back more firmly against her chest, digging your heels into the bed for purchase as a single finger enters you.

“You’re so pretty when you’re like shit,” Natasha murmurs in your ear, leaving a kiss on the shell of it. You can feel her smile as you tighten momentarily around her fingers. “So beautiful when you let me have all this power over you.”

You swallow the thick lust in your throat, trying to clear path for a coherent answer.

It never comes.

“You looked so beautiful when you walked down the aisle,” Natasha says, pushing another finger inside of you while the hand at your thigh moves to your breasts, just like in the bath. “I didn’t know what to think – whether I should be the sobbing bride to-be or if I should pick you up and find the nearest bathroom and just take you there.”

She crooks her fingers _just_ so, eliciting a deep, guttural moan from you.

“God, and then the reception,” she says into your throat, leaving bruising kisses there. “You looked so happy, and _I was_ so happy, and-“

You grab onto the wrist of the hand that’s driving into you, keeping her close as her free hand palms harder at your tender breasts, groping at them as she continues.

“Then it hit me,” she tells you, bringing you closer and closer to your release as each second passes. “It’s you, _you_ make me happy, my beautiful wife.”

A third is added, coaxing you to release.

“That’s right,” Natasha moans into your ear. “Come for me, my beautiful wife.”

And, _God_ , you do – reaching your peak with a shout, your legs shaking and hands gripping whatever skin you can reach.

Natasha works you through it, fucking her fingers in and out of you in time with the bucking of your hips. Even as your legs shake and you throw yourself against her, she doesn’t let up until you beg for her to cease her actions.

“Are you sure, love?” Natasha coos into your ear. “Are you sure you don’t want me to your peak over and over and over again? You don’t want me to bring you pleasure until you can’t take it anymore?”

You scream something unintelligible – hoping the expensive wallpaper and rich fellow hotel goers can’t hear you as you babble, mind frying as the coil in your abdomen tightens again.

_More less more less stop don’t stop please I want you I want everything Natasha I love you I love you Natasha I’ll do anything you want me to Natasha-_

Your brain short-circuits as you come once more, vision going to nothing but bright white for what feels like eternity.

Eventually Natasha lets you go, allows you to slump against her as you pant and attempt to regain a foothold in reality.

“Good?” Natasha asks once your eyes have recovered their focus, glaze receding.

You sigh happily. “Very much so.”

“You tired?” she asks.

You shrug, letting out a light yawn. “A little.”

Natasha just laughs. “You too tired for more?”

You shake your head, beaming. “Never.”

She lays you gently onto the bed, and leaves a kiss to the side of your mouth before retrieving her (and your) favorite strap on, putting it on and adjusting it with ease.

It’s average-sized, glossy, and black, showing off Natasha’s expertise. You sigh happily when she comes into view, climbing on top of you with ease.

You’re pliant under her rough hands, allowing her to push your knees to your chest and bend you in half to give her easier access to your pussy, still soaked and desperate from before.

“So wet for me,” Natasha murmurs as she aligns herself with your center. “Always ready for me, aren’t you?”

Your nod is cut short when you slam your head against the pillow, skin on fire as she fucks in and out of you.

 _Wait_ , scratch that.

This isn’t fucking, there’s no way something this beautiful can be qualified as something as crude _“fucking_.” No, _no_ – this is making love; you _wife_ is making love to _you_.

The realization hits you like a train, wiping your lungs of their capacity and making your blood ring loudly in your ears. It’s enough to make you feel too far from her – from the woman currently on top of you. In a heartbeat it’s like she’s a million miles away and a few lightyears away, and no – that simply _will not do._

You tangle your fingers in Natasha’s hair, messy bun long dissolved into a field of her beautiful red hair as you pull at her roots, making her moan as you wrap your legs around her waist to pull her impossibly closer to you. For a second you hope her skin becomes yours and vice versa, soldering you together like two pieces of a sculpture. Maybe then she’ll feel close enough, like she isn’t back in space and saving the world for the thousandth time.

“God, I’m gonna come,” you moan, “Fuck don’t stop! Please, God, don’t fucking stop!”

Natasha smiles as she watches your blissed-out face, reaching between you to rub at the most sensitive part of you, using your slick to rub sharp, tight circles there.

You come with her skin pressed harshly to yours, her murmuring sweet nothings into your hairline as your fingernails nearly draw blood.

Natasha doesn’t stop fucking the strap in and out of you, chasing her own high. She reaches her peak just as the waves of pleasure are subsiding – allowing you clear vision of her cursing out of her breath and screwing her eyes shut and her jaw tensing then going slack.

Just as she never ceases, you continue to fuck yourself on the toy as she grinds her clit into its base, soon making her twitch as it becomes too much for her.

After a minute she stills for just a moment, coming down from the last of her high as you pull her down for a heated, sloppy kiss.

Her lips taste like you and you moan as it hits your tongue, kissing anywhere you can reach as she pulls out of you – leaving you feeling empty.

You’re about to whine but she shushes you with another kiss, silencing you.

“Just a moment, love,” she whispers. “Wait just a moment.”

She hastily lays down next to you, pulling you on top of her effortlessly.

That’s when you begin to understand – being to instinctively grinding down onto her strap as her hands form a death grip on your hips.

“Fuck yeah,” she moans. “Grind down on me just like that.”

You align her with your center once more as you begin to ride her, one hand on the headboard and the other planted in the sheets next to her head.

One hand moves to your ass, digging her nails into the supple flesh while the other goes to your hip – guiding you forward and back.

She watches you closely, watches as your eyes roll back and head falls to the side; watches as your muscles tenses in your stomach and feels it in your back.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” she tells you. “Look so fucking beautiful on top of me, fucking yourself on my cock.”

The hand on your hip moves to brush lightly against your clit, making you nearly scream once more from how oversensitive you are.

“F-fuck, Nat!” You’re almost there, _so fucking close, all you need is a little more-_

“Stop,” Natasha commands.

Regretfully, caught under the spell that is _Natasha fucking Romanoff,_ you do. You still and you stay there – inert as you wait for whatever it is she wants you to do that requires you to resist every carnal impulse that’s telling you to _keep going don’t stop please don’t stop it feels so good I never want to stop please don’t stop!_

Silently, she readjusts, keeping you close to her as she moves, smirking as you gasp when she not-so-subtly “accidentally” bucks her hips.

She pulls you with her as she leans against the lush pillows, folding her hands behind her head as she makes herself comfortable.

You’re confused, almost _mad_ , not understanding what’s going on until Natasha tsks. “Come one, babygirl. Give me a show, won’t you? Don’t you want to give me something good to watch?”

You nod furiously and gulp, suddenly feeling very small and needy as you plant your hands on her sternum, using her for balance once more as you fuck your hips down onto her strap.

You’re still close, _so close_ , and carefully you remove one hand to rub at your clit, desperate to find your high once again as your eyes flit between watching the toy slide in and out of you and watching her intently – _determined_ to commit this moment to memory.

It drives you, nearly makes you choke as your lungs and heart and stomach contract and constrict and your muscles scream for air as they throw you off the proverbial cliff, throwing your head back and clawing at Natasha’s skin once more as you’re lost in an ocean of fire, of electricity that jumps across your skin as you fall to the deep sea below, tumbling and dropping into a vat of the best fucking thing you’ve ever felt into your entire life.

You shake, oh do you shake and bare your teeth and arch your back and think _is this what Heaven feels like? Is this what angels all become harpists for? If you fell at the hands of the instrument, could you feel the same way forever?_

You scream louder than a banshee as you come, falling on top of Natasha as you do so, panting and sweaty as Natasha leaves kisses wherever she can.

Eventually you roll to the side, allowing her to remove the toy and toss it in the open drawer of the side table to be cleaned and used later as you reach for a $7 bottle of water that had been strategically placed by housekeeping.

You cap it once you’ve downed half of it, placed it back gingerly as Natasha speaks once more.

“Another round, wife?” she asks, smiling ear to ear.

You give her a small laugh before turning over to curl up into her chest, thumbing at your new ring as you speak. You and Natasha had elected not to get engagement rings, and you knew this small act would become a newfound habit of yours. “Maybe after some rest.”

She smiles, kissing the top of your head as a large menu across the room catches her eye. “And some room service?”

You look up, grinning wickedly. “How about a _lot_ of room service?”

Natasha laughs as she imagines Tony’s face when he gets the bill from the hotel, sighing and rubbing his face and asking one of his robots to make him a drink.

“Oh yeah, a _lot_ of room service.”


End file.
